


"We Are Men of Honor (When It Suits Us)" or: "Ariadne Likes To Watch"

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism, crack-smut, faux-threesome only not really at all, minor coercion only not really at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>See, part of the problem had also been that Ariadne was horny. What else could she be, when she'd been trapped in the same hotel suite with two of the hottest guys she'd ever met for what was coming up on nearly a week now?</i>
</p><p>Or: Ariadne wins a bet with Arthur and Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"We Are Men of Honor (When It Suits Us)" or: "Ariadne Likes To Watch"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/gifts).



> This fic was supposed to be a birthday gift for myself. I finished it a little late, but it is suitably self-indulgent and completely smutty-crack.

At the heart of the matter, it happened because Ariadne was bored. It was facilitated by the fact that both Arthur and Eames lost a bet to her. Although, if asked, at least two of the three of them might say it had been a long time coming, and the third would be thinking it even though the words might never pass his lips.

Those plush, pink, entirely too tempting lips....

See, part of the problem had also been that Ariadne was horny. What else could she be, when she'd been trapped in the same hotel suite with two of the hottest guys she'd ever met for what was coming up on nearly a week now?

It was true that they _could_ have left. But doing so would have resulted in their being chased and shot at, which would have been all right for the two veteran members of the team but not so much so when they had Ariadne with them. Not that Arthur or Eames _liked_ being shot at, of course.

So they continued to hide out. Arthur assured them it wouldn't be for much longer, that he was having the problem "taken care of". And it _was_ a large hotel suite with a huge bathtub and excellent room service.

The enforced inactivity resulted in other things as well. Things that Ariadne couldn't help but be delighted by, even if she was still dreadfully bored and more than a little angry at the people who wanted to kill them.

For one thing, this enforced inactivity had resulted in all three of them dressing a bit more casually than they normally did. The first time Arthur had wandered out of his room in a pair of pajama bottoms and no top Ariadne had felt her mouth literally drop open. And seeing Eames in sweatpants had completely changed her mental image of the forger forever.

It wasn't that she hadn't known they were real people before. It was just that she hadn't thought of them that way. And even if she had, she certainly hadn't thought she'd ever get to _see_ it.

After the second day of hiding out, Arthur had simply left the product out of his hair, which just about blew Ariadne's mind. Evidently the mere presence of the two of them wasn't enough to compel the point man to pomade his black hair the way he normally did, and Ariadne certainly didn't mind the assumed familiarity. Although she did realize _why_ he generally wore his hair slicked back. When it was loose he looked like he might barely be her age.

Then Eames stopped bothering with his own hair, and his was even more of a mess, nothing but a bunch of wild cowlicks battling for dominance atop his head. And Ariadne was abruptly aware that Eames was not as old as she had always assumed.

Arthur looked younger than he actually was with his hair loose, Ariadne mused, glancing surreptitiously at her suite-mates, but Eames.... Well, okay, granted she didn't actually know how old they were, either of them. But she assumed that Arthur was around thirty, and she was coming to realize that Eames wasn't a lot older than Arthur. She'd always thought of him as being closer to Saito's age, or at least older than Cobb, but seeing him lounging on the sofa -- because he'd drawn the short straw and had to sleep in the main room -- with his hair a mess and sleep lines on his face, in sweats and a teeshirt, made her realize that he was much younger than that.

In fact, she felt a little silly for not having seen it sooner. But she'd spent more time with Arthur during their first job together and not so much with Eames.

So the men were practically boys, even if not really, even if they were both older than her, and Ariadne was beginning to feel as though she kind of knew and trusted them. Never mind that Eames had made sure she was well aware that he was completely untrustworthy, and Arthur reminded her of the same thing while also implying that she oughtn't trust him, either, on a near-regular basis.

She wasn't stupid. She wasn't going to take chances. But she kind of _had_ to trust them at least a _little_ considering that they got to see her first thing in the morning, without makeup, before she'd had her coffee.

And it went the other way as well, she thought.

The main result of seeing Arthur with stubble and Eames in his boxers, however, wasn't familiarity or even fondness; though those reactions _were_ a part of it. But Ariadne was a healthy young woman with a normal libido, and she'd have had to be blind not to recognize that she was currently sharing living space with two remarkably good looking, virile, athletic males.

Ariadne was not blind to their attractions, and she had a very healthy libido.

Arthur was lean and lanky but he was one hundred percent muscle and she'd noticed from the very beginning how intense and warm his dark brown eyes were, how large and graceful his hands were, how he dimpled so charmingly on the rare occasion that he smiled. It was different, though, seeing him with his hair curling around his temples, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he first woke, seeing his bare chest because he apparently had no modesty in the mornings and Eames liked to keep the heat higher than Arthur preferred in the main room of the suite.

And then there was Eames. He looked less intimidating than Ariadne recalled, but that might be because she felt she knew him a little better now than she had during the Fischer job. He wasn't as bulky as she remembered, though whether this was fact or a trick of her memory, she wasn't sure. She'd never forgotten those lips, couldn't have done so if she'd tried. Seemingly built for sucking cock, and if that was a crude and rather intrusive way of thinking of them, well, it wasn't as though Eames had to know what was going on in her head. With his clean-cut features, broad shoulders, and narrow hips, how could Ariadne _not_ find Eames to be just as attractive as Arthur?

It wasn't as though she wanted to sleep with either of them. Trust or not, Ariadne wasn't about to head down that road. Besides, she had certain... _suspicions_ regarding the two of them.

But not wanting to have sex with them didn't mean that she wasn't acutely aware of how sexy they were. And, dear God, they _were_ , incredibly sexy.

Bored and horny were not a good mix, as any parent of a teenager could tell you. Ariadne was not a teenager, but she was a healthy young woman sharing a suite with two very hot, tempting men. She had a hell of a lot of imagination, _and_ , most importantly, she had won just a bet the boys had been foolish enough to wager with her.

Really, neither of them had ever had a chance.

=+=

It was early evening and the three of them were gathered in the main room of the suite. There was wine, which they'd had with dinner, but none of them was anything approaching intoxicated. Ariadne knew that her cheeks were a little pink, but she wasn't more than pleasantly buzzed, and she could tell the feeling was on the verge of slipping easily away from her, especially since they had emptied the bottle and not ordered more. She was perfectly okay with that.

And the truth of the matter was that her cheeks were pinked with something more than alcohol. Especially when the bet she had won dropped a brilliant idea right into her brain. Brilliant and _bad_ , but oh so good at the same time.

"So what will you claim as your forfeit, Ari?" Eames asked her smoothly, leaning back into the corner of the sofa he was stuck sleeping on, and giving her a sleepy-eyed, lazy smile. She wasn't sure she liked this nickname, but she _did_ like the fact that Eames felt familiar enough with her that he readily used it.

She eyed those plush lips as they curved up at the corners. As he'd grown more comfortable with them both, Eames had gotten less prickly, more pleasant to be around. He and Arthur hadn't argued in nearly two days, despite the fact that they were virtually trapped here together. Okay, there'd been that fight over the toothpaste, but that hardly counted.

"Well," Ariadne drawled, considering the best way to approach this. She'd have to be careful not to spook Eames. She was confident in what she was doing, but she had to use a delicate touch. As delicate as one could manage to be while wielding a metaphorical sledgehammer, that was. "What I have in mind might be too difficult for you."

Eames looked offended and intrigued at once. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked. He was wearing trousers and a button-up shirt, but he was barefoot, his hair was the delightful debauched-looking mess that Ariadne had gotten used to, and he'd actually recently shaved. He looked very young compared to her mental image of him, and she almost felt bad for what she was about to do.

Almost.

Instead of replying right away, she scooted closer on the sofa, then unexpectedly slung her leg over his thighs, so that she was straddling his lap facing him, her arms ringing his neck, and her eyes about on level with his.

Eames let out a surprised sort of squawk, his hands coming up instinctively to push at her hips, but she clasped her hands together at the nape of his neck and did her best to _settle_ without actually doing so. He wasn't going to move her without using force, and she thought that he was too much of a gentleman to do so. Especially with Arthur right there.

Arthur was behind her back now, sitting in the recliner. So she couldn't read his face for cues but she trusted that he'd let her know if she veered too far in the wrong direction. Of the two of them, she had far more faith in Arthur's responses than Eames'. After all, Eames was a liar for a living, whereas Arthur only lied when it benefited him.

Eames' stormy grey eyes were round, and his fingers flexed on Ariadne's hips, but he didn't try any harder to push her away. "What-- What _are_ you up to?" he asked, more than a bit breathlessly.

"Just relax," Ariadne soothed, grinning at him. "I promise this won't hurt a bit, as long as you don't struggle."

Eames melted back into the sofa, sending a look over her shoulder that was very clearly entreating Arthur for help. Ariadne glanced back and couldn't help feeling a little smug when Arthur stayed where he was, watching them both with narrow eyes, curious and maybe a little jealous -- she didn't think that was in her imagination and it gave her heart -- but not moving to aid Eames.

Good, this was exactly how she had hoped Arthur would respond.

"Now, Eames," Ariadne continued, turning her attention back to the man at her mercy. Her thighs were feeling a bit wobbly, and she couldn't tell whether it was the wine, arousal, the fact that she was supporting all of her own weight at an awkward angle, or all of the above. Whatever the cause, she didn't dare to settle down onto Eames' lap just yet. Not and grind the way she wanted. This wasn't about seducing Eames, but she really was feeling horny, had been all day. She'd been trying to think of some way she could manipulate things to her advantage, and then she had won the bet, and this plan had sprung fully formed into her mind. It might be crazy, it very definitely _was_ crazy, but she was feeling bold enough to act on it.

"It's very simple," she continued. "I just want you to promise to answer me honestly."

Eames blinked rapidly, and she'd never been close enough to him before to notice how long his lashes were. Not thick, like a girl's, but very long. He also had craggy teeth behind those lush lips, but his breath was sweet from the dessert he'd nibbled at and tangy from the wine he'd had before that. She sort of wanted to kiss him, but that wasn't part of her brilliant plan.

"That's it?" he asked warily.

Ariadne restrained herself from beaming triumphantly, not wishing to scare him off any more than she already had. "Uh-huh," she nodded, smoothing her hands over his shoulders now that he didn't seem inclined to just take and shove her off of his lap, trying to seem as reassuring as she could manage while she was still straddling his muscular thighs. "Easy as that."

"Honesty isn't easy, nor is it safe," Eames contradicted, and he was still tense under her, but he seemed to be calming down a little. His hands left her hips, going to the cushions to either side of him, and she felt suddenly cold and bereft, but this actually wasn't about her. She wondered if he could smell her arousal yet, but that wasn't about him either. Well, not directly. Well, in a manner of speaking it _was_ , but not the conventional way. She'd work him around, and hopefully they'd all get what they wanted.

But most especially her.

"That's true," she allowed, because for a man like Eames, one who lived the life he did, this was a simple fact. "But you can trust me." She levered up a little, daring to press a quick kiss to his forehead, his wild bangs tickling her nose for a moment before she settled back down, just a little closer to his groin. "I swear that you can trust me, Eames. And I know you already trust Arthur."

Eames' gaze shot over her shoulder again, his eyes narrow and sharp, and Ariadne feared she might have made a major tactical error, reminding Eames of the other man's presence. But she had been right, whether Eames wanted to admit it or not, and it had also taken Eames' attention off of the fact that Ariadne was riding him a bit more intimately than was acceptable for colleagues or even friends.

Well, maybe friends. But she wasn't sure that he considered her to be his friend. Eames didn't seem to _have_ friends... unless Arthur counted. But she didn't think that Arthur and Eames were _friends_ ; not the way most people understood that word, anyway.

Ariadne wasn't sure what Eames read on Arthur's face, since she didn't have eyes in the back of her head, but whatever it was, it seemed to set the forger's mind at ease. Ariadne desperately wished that she could turn and look, but she was feeling intense and she didn't dare to shift her attention off of Eames. They were only getting started here.

"All right then," Eames agreed, as though he had a choice when this was Ariadne's forfeit to claim and he'd lost the bet fair and square. "Ask away."

He said this in a light tone of voice, but she could see the tension in his face, could feel it in his body as she rode his lap, and his eyes were fixed on her face with more than a little mistrust, despite her assurances. She wasn't offended; she understood that it was just the way he was. And yet he was still willing to put himself in her hands. Now her heart felt warm as well, in addition to that particular area underneath her panties.

What? Nothing about this conversation was making her _less_ horny. Arthur had done his exercises in the living area this morning, and Eames had been parading around in nothing but a towel after his shower for a good fifteen minutes this afternoon. Ariadne was only human, dammit. She was also not the only one that had been looking, she was well aware, which was a large part of why she was willing to try this mad gambit now.

She was starting slow, though. Well, slow for where she intended to take this.

"Answer me this," she said, running her hands over Eames' shoulders again, soft and hopefully unobtrusive, "Boys, or girls, or both?"

"Wha?" Eames' plump lips curled in an enticing "o" as he stared at her, attempting to parse her meaning. Obviously this wasn't anything he'd been expecting, and Ariadne did love taking Eames by surprise. It was more difficult than it seemed. Or, at least, getting him to express his startlement rather than hiding it.

"Boys, girls, or both?" she repeated patiently, arching her brows and allowing herself to smile slightly. Not enough that Eames would think she was mocking him, though. She knew she still had to be careful.

"Oh." Comprehension seemed to strike him. He blinked, and it might have been her imagination, but she thought he looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, both," he replied, giving what he probably hoped was a nonchalant shrug. She could feel the muscles of his shoulders flex under her palms and she couldn't help licking her lips.

"Fair enough," she nodded, and now she supposed she was smirking, but she did try to rein it in. "So now we narrow it down. Boys or girls, particularly?"

"What?" Eames blinked at her, on the verge of outrage. "I already answered your question, Ari!"

"I never said there'd be only one question," she chided, damping her smile and giving him a serious look. "I only asked that you answer honestly; I have more questions."

"That hardly seems fair," Eames whined, and he was _whining_ which shouldn't have been as charming as it was. "Arthur, back me up here!"

This time Ariadne craned around to look at the other person in the room, making sure to lock her hands behind Eames' neck so that he couldn't shake her off while she was off balance like this.

Arthur didn't look startled or upset, which was good. He was focused on what they were doing, which Ariadne had meant for him to be, and his expression was more contemplative than confused, even though Ariadne doubted he had much of an idea of where she was headed with this. She hoped she wasn't so transparent, at any rate.

"Seems fair enough to me," Arthur said smoothly, gazing at Eames rather than Ariadne. "She didn't specify just one question, and you did agree to give her honest answers."

Ariadne turned back to Eames triumphantly, and was treated to a truly devastating pout. Really, the lips on this man were ridiculous. Ridiculous and ridiculously sexy.

"So?" she pushed, squeezing the nape of his neck quickly before letting go. She was still straddling his lap and the center seam of her pants was pressing rather conveniently against a very sensitive spot, but if she moved now, she knew she'd lose him entirely. So she stayed still, even though she dearly wanted to squirm against him.

Eames grimaced, sighed, rolled his eyes, but then finally came out with a grudging, "Boys, I guess. Or, rather, men."

Ariadne nodded again, her smile broadening, because that reply led right to her next question. "See, that wasn't so hard," she cooed, taking a moment to bolster his ego, though from the way he rolled his eyes again, he didn't really take it that way. Ariadne was pretty sure that she could feel Arthur's amusement behind her, even without turning.

"Just one more question," she said, because Eames was starting to look as though he might just manually lift her off of him and flee, and that was the last thing she wanted. She laced her fingers together behind his neck, tightened her thighs around his hips, and wriggled a little closer, so that her breasts were almost pressed against his chest, so that they both nearly had to go cross-eyed to see each other. Eames let out a low noise of what was probably protest and his hands landed heavily on her hips again, holding her still there.

"Just one?" Eames asked, somewhat suspiciously, tipping his head back slightly, trying and failing to make this move look natural.

"Unless you _want_ me to ask more," Ariadne teased, shifting her weight from one knee to the other, then sinking back so that her rear was resting on Eames' legs. This meant that she could meet his eyes more easily and see his expressions more clearly. And his thighs were hard and warm beneath her ass, which felt _very_ nice. She let her hands slide down to rest over his pectorals, and these were hard and warm as well, making her feel even more aroused.

"All right." Eames didn't remove his hands from her hips, even when she shifted, but it was more of a warning than a caress. That was all right. She wasn't planning on trying to seduce him. Certainly not the conventional way, though it was interesting to find that he was bisexual. Interesting but not at all unexpected. "Ask away," he said fatalistically.

Ariadne liked to think she struck like an attacking shark, but she was aware that she was probably more like a pouncing kitten. Still, she was _pouncing_ , and that was what was important.

"All right, Eames," she smirked, rotating her hips in a slight circle, reasonably sure that she wouldn't spook him by this point and unable to remain still. She was an artist, she visualized things, and she had a powerful imagination, so the images dancing in her head right now were positively filthy. It made her bold enough to ask her last question, even though common sense and, well, _common courtesy_ dictated that she shouldn't. But she'd come this far, and both Arthur and Eames had been looking very fucking sexy all over the hotel suite for the last several days. Ariadne had her breaking point, the same as anyone else.

"Answer me this," she continued, and she knew that his hands had tightened on her hips in an attempt to hold her still, to stop her grinding into him, but this hint of strength and forcefulness still sent a frisson of hot arousal zinging through her. And she had already been extremely turned on. "Top or bottom?"

She heard a tiny sound from Arthur behind her, but whether it was a snort, a chuckle, or something else entirely, she didn't dare to look away from Eames to try and see. Eames was staring at her again, his eyes huge and his lips parted, and Ariadne kind of wanted to lick at his jagged teeth, at that fat lower lip, but even more than that she wanted to watch someone else do it.

A very specific someone else.

""I--" Eames began breathlessly, then his mouth firmed and he squinted at her. "I don't think I'm going to answer that one, Ari. Sorry."

"Oh?" She kind of felt like she had her answer due to his refusal to answer, but maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. "Well, then, I guess you'll have to do whatever I tell you to do."

"This isn't Truth or Dare, Ariadne," Arthur spoke up, and he sounded completely reasonable and slightly amused, but she thought that she caught of a bit of a husk to his voice, as though she wasn't the only one being turned on by the thought of Eames having hot sex with another man. She hoped she wasn't wrong about that, because a lot was riding on her faith that she was reading both the men correctly.

"Maybe not," she agreed, and when she moved to leave Eames' lap he loosed a sigh of relief that she thought she ought to be a bit offended by. Of course, this relief was short-lived, when she merely turned around and then settled back down in his lap, her rear pressed firmly against his crotch. She grabbed his arms and casually ringed them around her waist, then _settled_ back into him, the way she'd been wanting to do all along. "But he refused to complete the terms of his forfeit, and so his ass is mine to with what I want."

She wasn't sure where this boldness was coming from -- almost a week of getting progressively more horny was one thing, but she wasn't usually this forward with people she considered to be colleagues -- but she couldn't regret it. Hey, at least she hadn't forced Eames to palm her breasts or cup her crotch, like she would have dearly liked to do. Even the thought of it made her breath catch a little and she had to fight not to writhe against Eames' tense body, not to touch these intimate areas herself. This wasn't about _her_ , because she had a greater goal. And _then_ it could be about her, once she'd realized said goal.

"I'm not sure I'd put it that way," Arthur mused slowly, staring at her with a focused, intense expression, as though he'd be able to figure out what she had in mind. She was even more convinced that he was jealous, and she just hoped that she was reading things right and that it wasn't over _her_. She didn't think so. That kiss he'd stolen in the dream-share during the Fischer job had been sweet, but nothing had sparked. Not for her, and she thought not for him, either.

"But she does have a point, Eames," Arthur continued, glancing over her shoulder at the other man.

Eames let out a discontented sound, but he seemed to be terrified to move, remaining completely stiff and frozen beneath Ariadne. She felt a little bad, taking advantage like this, but she was hoping that soon enough she'd be making it up to him, relieving Arthur's possible jealousy, and satisfying all of her own baser desires with one daring sentence.

She just had to work up the courage to speak that sentence. Somehow, the solid heat of Eames' body at her back, and Arthur's assessing but still affectionate gaze on her helped. She felt brave, bold, and she knew that this was something she could do.

"First, your forfeit," she said to Arthur, and he nodded, still relaxed in the recliner, not tense and uptight like Eames. Of course, Ariadne was pretty sure that he had no idea what was coming.

"What would you like from me?" he asked, one dark brow rising. Damn, he looked different with his hair loose. She could almost fall for him like this. But she knew better than that. And she knew _why_ she knew better.

"I want you to fuck Eames while I watch," she told him without hesitation or shyness, well aware that she was setting everything on the line in that moment. There was the distinct possibility that Arthur would tell her to fuck off, and that the neither man would want to have anything to do with her ever again.

This time it was Arthur's mouth that fell open, and Ariadne took note all over again -- because she had definitely noticed before -- of how _pretty_ his lips were. Not lush and decadent like Eames', but just as enticing in their well-formed sensuality. Just as fuckable, she thought salaciously, because she was clearly a filthy, filthy pervert without any shame. And she was completely fine with that.

She could hear Eames suck in a great breath behind her, felt his chest rising against the muscles of her back, and his arms clenched for a moment around her waist, an instinctive response before he tried to let loose completely. But she kept a firm grip on his wrists, not allowing him to let go. "Ari!" he gasped, sounding scandalized, and she almost wanted to giggle, at the knowledge that _she_ had managed to scandalize _Eames_.

She was more focused on Arthur, however. Once he'd recovered from his initial surprise, his eyes had narrowed and his face had gone blank. Ariadne was pretty sure he was running through scenarios in his mind, and she hoped that they were turning him on as much as they had been turning her on this whole time.

"Well," he eventually said, giving her the tiniest hint of a smile, hardly enough to call one dimple out of hiding, "You did win the bet."

"Arthur!" And she'd thought Eames had sounded scandalized before. "You can't be serious!"

Arthur glanced at Eames, and his lips curved in something that was more than a smile but not quite a smirk. "You failed to fulfill your own forfeit, Eames," he reminded the other man. "Which means you'll have to do what Ariadne tells you to do. And what do you suppose that will be?"

Ariadne was impressed by Arthur's logic and by the silky smooth tone of his voice, but mostly she was ready to see the two of them _touching_ each other. She was certain she hadn't misread the deeply restrained sexual tension between Arthur and Eames, and Arthur's swift capitulation certain seemed to verify this. She beamed and hopped of off Eames' lap. His arms fell limp to the sides, but he was too stunned to really notice. She almost felt bad, but it was really his own fault for wandering around all morning in nothing but a towel, with his hair sleek against his skull and water beaded on his muscular back.

"No take-backs," she told Arthur sternly, suddenly afraid this was all a ploy to get her to leave Eames alone until they could both escape her wiles. But Arthur merely smiled at her and rose to his feet, and she could see that the line of his pants wasn't lying as well as it ought in the vicinity of his groin. She suddenly felt even more assured of triumph.

"Eames," Arthur said, and Ariadne scooted quickly to one side as he moved to stand before the silent, shocked forger. "Come here."

He held a hand down, and gave Eames a smile that actually managed to look pleasant and reassuring at once. Ariadne was impressed by his talent in this area, but she was busy holding her breath, hoping that Arthur would be able to talk Eames around.

Almost automatically, Eames placed his hand in Arthur's and allowed the other man to tug him to his feet. Arthur did _not_ step back, and so this brought them face to face, their toes touching, and Arthur snaked an arm around Eames' waist before he could move away. Which Eames couldn't have done without stepping into Ariadne, so he was pretty well trapped between Arthur's upright body in front of him and the sofa behind him.

Ariadne would have felt bad, she probably _should_ have felt bad, but she was just too turned on, and she was pretty well convinced that Eames wanted this as much as she and Arthur did. He maybe didn't know it yet... or it could be that he simply hadn't wanted to admit to it.

"You're as mad as she is," Eames gasped, holding himself rigid and still, but Ariadne thought that his voice was trembling as much with arousal as any other, more negative emotion, and she waited silently, hoping that Arthur would know the right thing to say.

"I thought you already knew that," Arthur said, and he was smiling a little, but not as predatorily as Ariadne had been. "Or did you mean in this particular situation?"

Eames let out a sound that might have been agreement, but he seemed to be a little at a loss. Ariadne couldn't see more than the very outside of his right cheek, which was disappointing, but she would have had to move in order to see both men in profile, and she didn't dare to call attention to her presence just yet. Not in this incredibly delicate moment.

"Listen," Arthur said, and he leaned into Eames a little, his free hand very carefully ringing Eames' wrist and remaining there, lightly holding on, making no demands. Their faces were so close now that Ariadne was _sure_ that they were going to kiss, and she was literally holding her breath, but then Arthur bypassed Eames' face, his lips, shifting so that he could speak directly into his ear.

"Eames," he murmured, his voice as soft and gentle as his fingers were around Eames' wrist. "It's just a bet and Ariadne is a reasonable young woman. If you truly don't want this, if this is _really_ making you uncomfortable, I'm sure we'll all agree to call it off."

Eames remained silent, and now Ariadne couldn't see his face at all, with Arthur's head in the way, but his shoulders seemed to relax a little, and she didn't think that it was her imagination.

"But," Arthur continued, and the hand he'd been resting easily at the small of Eames' back now slid down to spread over one of his ass cheeks, fingers tightening on the delicious curve. "Do you _really_ want to call it off?"

Ariadne had kind of expected that Eames would squawk the way he had when she'd straddled him. She'd thought that maybe he would jerk away from Arthur or push him away, though she'd hoped he wouldn't.

She really, really hadn't expected him to let out a soft, wordless noise and melt into Arthur's half embrace.

But that was what happened, and she could see the pleased, triumphant expression on Arthur's face, even though he didn't glance in her direction. That was all right, though. He'd agreed to her terms, and she was only here to get them started and to watch, not to get involved. She didn't feel the need to be a participant as long as she got to _see_.

"Good," Arthur murmured in Eames' ear, and before he could maybe protest, or accuse Arthur of being condescending, Arthur let go of his wrist and locked that hand at the nape of his neck, holding Eames still as he moved back far enough to seal their mouths together.

Ariadne thought that they could stop at this and she'd have enough masturbatory fodder to last her the rest of her life... but, of course, she didn't intend that any of them stop here. And evidently that was not Arthur's intent either.

They both had such beautiful mouths, in such different ways, and Arthur definitely knew how to kiss. Ariadne almost wanted to laugh at how much more sexual and sexy this kiss was than the one Arthur had stolen from her during the Fischer job, but she was too turned on to _really_ feel like laughing. Moaning, maybe, but she didn't make a sound, because the last thing she wanted to do was disturb them and possibly cause them to stop.

Arthur was groping Eames' ass with absolutely no sign of hesitation as he licked his way into Eames' mouth. Before more than a handful of heart-thumping moments had passed, Eames got over his surprise, shock, shyness, whatever it was, and clutched at Arthur's shoulders, pressing even closer and returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm. And with equal skill, Ariadne was pleased to note. She would have been disappointed if Eames _hadn't_ been a good kisser. Disappointed and completely incredulous, actually.

Ariadne really wanted Arthur to grab Eames' ass with _both_ of his hands, but he was still holding onto the nape of Eames' neck, tightly enough that the skin around his fingertips was turning a bit white. Eames didn't seem to mind, though. If anything, this show of dominance served to render him more pliable, and Ariadne felt that she really had a strong suspicion as to the truth behind the question Eames had refused to answer for her.

Well, and he hadn't objected yet, when Ariadne had told Arthur to fuck him. It might be a matter of semantics, because that word could be taken two different ways... but somehow she didn't think she was wrong in her supposition.

Just when she was convinced that they had both completely forgotten about her, and her hand was creeping toward her fly because she really couldn't resist, Arthur dragged his mouth away from Eames', his lips bruised dark with pressure, slick with saliva, and parted to allow him to suck in some gasping breaths. And that was just as hot as seeing them kiss, she thought.

She was just wishing that she could see Eames' face as well when Arthur took and, in a move as impressive as it was surprising, spun Eames around so that his back was to Arthur's chest, so that he was facing Ariadne.

Ariadne wasn't sure who looked more startled, herself or Eames. Arthur's arms were still around Eames, though, and he hooked his chin over Eames' shoulder in order to smirk at her, so it didn't seem like he was planning to put anything on hold. Considering the state of Eames' trousers, Ariadne felt she wasn't the only one who might be concerned about this. In fact, to be fair, Eames probably had a lot more right to worry about that right now than she did.

Eames looked at least as turned on as Arthur did, as Ariadne felt, and considerable more debauched. With his hair already bed-messy, and his mouth an even more crimson shade, all it took was the added pink to his cheeks and the saliva glistening on his lips to make him look as though he was sex incarnate.

"Ariadne, did you want to help?" Arthur... well, he kind of _purred_. It made the hairs at the nape of Ariadne's neck and on her arms prickle, but not in a bad way. She knew that Arthur could be dangerous, no matter how nice he always was to her, and the expression on his face very much underlined that fact in this moment.

"No, I'm good," she denied immediately, shaking her head and raising her hands. Okay, so the button of her fly was undone, but hopefully both the men were too horny and distracted by one another to notice. It wasn't her imagination; Arthur was rocking his hips slightly against Eames' ass, and that was so incredibly sexy that she could hardly stand it.

"I only want to watch," she continued, in case there had been some confusion. "If I'd intended this to become a threesome, I'd have asked for a threesome."

Eames' eyes were a little glazed, possibly not really processing what she was saying, but that might have had something to do with the fact that Arthur was now cupping his groin through the front of his trousers as well as pulsing against his ass. It was almost enough to make Ariadne rethink her stance, but....

"I just wondered if you might be wiling to unbutton Eames' shirt for me," Arthur informed her, and he sounded as serious and as earnest as he did when he was trying to make his point during a briefing. But the apples of his cheeks were red, his eyes were hooded and dark with lust, and she could still see where his lips were far more ruddy than their norm, after the intense kisses he and Eames had exchanged.

"Well...." She was tempted, she had to admit. And Eames _had_ claimed he was bisexual. "I guess if you could use the help...."

It felt wrong to approach them, but then there she was, standing in front of Eames, and it would be even more wrong to be this close and _not_ do as Arthur had asked. And, after all, she had been the one getting increasingly hotter and more wound up all day over how sexy both Eames and Arthur were. It only seemed fair.

Eames didn't seem to mind her unbuttoning his shirt, though she thought that maybe, _maybe_ his cheeks were pinked as much with embarrassment as arousal. She didn't rush the job, but neither was she comfortable taking her time. She made sure her movements were steady and deliberate, and she was a little surprised that her hands weren't shaking.

Arthur helpfully tugged Eames' shirt out of his waistband for Ariadne, and then as the last button came loose, he tugged the shirt off his shoulders and swept it completely free of the other man's body. Now Eames' torso was bare, and in his trousers he was wearing more than he'd had on when he'd been walking around in a towel that morning, but somehow -- maybe because she was closer, maybe because there was so much sex in the air, or maybe because of the answers Eames had given Ariadne and the one he had withheld -- he seemed to be more naked now than he had been then.

Ariadne couldn't help herself; she had fully intended to simply watch while the boys did their thing, that was the deal. But with this incredible expanse of sculpted flesh right here in front of her... well, how was she supposed to resist?

Arthur's hands were on Eames' hips and his mouth was closing over Eames' earlobe -- doubtless hot and wet, with wicked teeth and a skillful tongue, her imagination supplied -- so she wasn't even sure he noticed her fingertips trailing lightly over the planes of his chest and stomach, just for a moment. His skin was soft over the hard muscle, and he was so very warm.

For several heartbeats, even as she stepped back and watched Arthur turn Eames in his arms and kiss him on the mouth again, Ariadne sort of wished that she _was_ getting involved, in a way other than initiating this scenario and helping get Eames out of his shirt.... But this was okay too. Better than okay, and with less emotional complications.

Besides. She didn't know whether Eames was attracted to her and she wasn't sure Arthur _really_ was, despite the kiss during the Fischer job. In fact, that kiss had gone a long way toward convincing her that he definitely _wasn't_ attracted to her, had only thought that he _should_ be or something. Whereas, she was dead certain that Arthur was attracted to Eames and vice versa.

The fact that they were very determinedly trying to crawl into one another's mouths certainly did seem to hold up this observation.

Ariadne stood there a moment, just watching them, because that was why she had gotten them started in the first place. They really were a beautiful sight to behold.

Arthur's hand looked so large, splayed over the small of Eames' back. It wasn't like Eames was a small man, though now, seeing him without his shirt, Ariadne thought that he had definitely lost a little of his bulk since the Fischer job. He still had a bit more muscle than Arthur, and his shoulders were broader. But Arthur had some very lovely, very graceful, very _big_ hands, and his fine fingers looked gentle and artistic at once where they pressed against the delicate flesh where Eames spine slid under his waistband.

Ariadne'd had more than a few fantasies about those hands, she could admit in the privacy of her own mind. But nothing was better than seeing them _in reality_ , touching Eames so possessively. In a lot of ways it was better watching him undo Eames than having him treat her the same way. She'd never thought of herself as a voyeur before, but evidently this was a day for all three of them to discover truths about themselves.

Well, herself and Eames, she supposed. Arthur had probably known all along what he wanted -- _who_ he wanted -- and had only been biding his time. He struck her as being self aware like that. Not to mention patient. She couldn't bring herself to regret bumping up his timetable, if he'd had one. And she didn't think he'd minded much either.

"We should go to my room," Arthur said, startling her a little because she'd become so focused on the way his fingers were tracing along the line of Eames' waistband, his thumb rubbing at the knots of Eames' backbone under delicate flesh, that she hadn't realized that the two men had stopped kissing.

She raised her eyes, and Arthur sent her a steamy look whose meaning she parsed easily enough. It was up to her to get herself into the room, while Arthur took care of Eames. At this point she kind of doubted that the forger would balk, but he might decide he didn't want Ariadne watching.... And so she nodded quickly and skittered ahead of the boys into the room that Arthur had claimed as his own when they had first entrenched themselves in the suite.

The room looked about the way she would have expected, she thought, giving it a quick once-over as she entered. Neat and clean, with his laptop set up on the tiny desk, and a few striped button-up shirts slung over the back of the chair. The bedcovers were rumpled, but had been tugged over the mattress in a semblance of order. Of course, they were about to get very, very messy, Ariadne thought with a leer.

She crossed to the chair at the desk, since that was the only piece of furniture in the room she'd be able to sit on other than the bed, and she didn't think either man was going to want her on the bed with them. The chair was built more to look pretty than to be comfortable or sturdy, but she was small and she'd make it work.

She took a moment to move the wrinkled shirts from the back of the chair to the desktop, because even if they were dirty she didn't think Arthur would appreciate her knocking them on the floor. Then she sat, biting at her lower lip as she realized that Arthur and Eames were in the room now, standing beside the bed. She kept expecting one of them to change his mind, to demand that she leave, but so far things seemed to be going as well as she could have hoped. Arthur actually seemed to _like_ having her watch, and Eames didn't seem to mind.

Of course, Arthur was keeping Eames distracted, with those gorgeous hands running over his exposed torso, grabbing at his ass, cupping the growing bulge in his trousers....

Ariadne squirmed where she was sitting on the chair, its hard seat pressing against her intimately when she spread her thighs and leaned forward a little. She did this without shame. Neither of the men was looking at her, and it would just be stupid to try to pretend that she wasn't incredibly turned on. Especially since that was the whole point of this crazy situation.

Ariadne was well aware that all of this had been a very bad idea. But, hey, Arthur and Eames were both going along with it. Not just willingly, but eagerly in fact. After the way they had been tormenting her for the past several days, she felt that it was the least they could do. Even if they _had_ been teasing her inadvertently rather than deliberately.

Now, at least, they _knew_ they were putting on a show. Even though by this point they had probably mostly forgotten that she was watching they did know that she was, and they knew why. So they were all on the same page, and Ariadne could be sure that she wasn't going to be kicked out for being a dirty-minded voyeur.

Arthur and Eames had paused beside the bed, kissing, tasting, touching, and it was hot, but after a minute or two of this Arthur evidently decided that it was time to move things along.

The jingle of metal and swoosh of leather sweeping through belt loops as Arthur unfastened and removed Eames' belt got Ariadne even more wet than she already was, and she kind of really wanted to get her hand inside her panties. The more so when Eames' trousers hit the floor, leaving him standing there in nothing but his boxers. But she was patient, she could wait.

Arthur's talented hands made a few more magical, economical motions and Eames was completely nude. Then, with something that looked more like a wrestling move than anything else, Eames wound up on his back on the bed. Arthur quickly followed, leaning over him, knee braced on the mattress, elbows to either side of Eames' head, and his mouth sealing over Eames' again.

To hell with waiting, Ariadne thought, scooting her ass down the seat of the chair so that she could get her hand between her thighs. She still didn't open her fly, but she dragged her nails up the center seam of her pants, where it stretched right over her most sensitive areas, and that gave her a little relief. She wasn't quite sure how far she wanted to go with both the men in front of her -- and if that was a little hypocritical of her, so be it -- but she was seconds away from pulling down her zipper and sticking her hand in her pants.

On the bed before her Arthur was hovering above Eames, not touching him anywhere other than his hand on one broad shoulder, his tongue sunk deeply into Eames' mouth. For some reason, Ariadne thought, this was even sexier than if he had immediately ground himself down into the other man's body. Maybe it was because she could _see_ so much more this way.

And she wanted to see. She was so glad that she could see. It truly was a beautiful sight....

Eames' stomach muscles were hard and tense, and even though she was at a slight distance and at a somewhat awkward angle, Ariadne could easily make out the trail of crisp hairs that threaded their way down from his navel, bushing out to surround his cock. It was a vey nice cock, Ariadne thought lasciviously. She'd dated a couple of French guys while she'd been in Paris, so that fact that Eames was uncut didn't surprise her. She wasn't at all surprised that he was hard, either -- in fact, she'd have been shocked if he hadn't been.

Arthur was hard too, she could see, but he was still wearing his pants. They clung to his ass, where it curved between Eames' naked thighs, and Ariadne sort of wanted to go over there and _grab_ it. It was one incredibly fine ass.... But she was only here to watch, she kind of doubted she'd be welcome if she tried to join in, and besides, her knees wouldn't have supported her if she'd tried to walk. She was pretty sure of that last, if nothing else.

While she watched, breathless and aroused, there was a bit of a tousle on the bed. Ariadne wasn't sure if Eames was trying to take control of their kiss, trying to drag Arthur down onto him, or if he just wanted to _touch_ , but with barely a flicker of effort, Arthur grabbed a hold of Eames' wrist and with a sharp flex of the hard muscles of his forearm -- visible where he had his sleeves rolled up partway -- he pressed it down into the mattress.

"Oh!" said Ariadne and Eames at the same time. Ariadne bit her lip sharply, hoping she hadn't ruined the moment, but she needn't have worried. Eames had gone all heavy-lidded and glassy-eyed, and Arthur was completely focused on the man beneath him. Neither of them so much as glanced in her direction.

"Definitely bottom," Ariadne whispered to herself, as quietly as she could, and then she finally undid her fly and worked her right hand into her pants. She could feel the hot, hard flush in her cheeks, knew that her nipples were stiff inside the cups of her bra, and she was wrecking this pair of panties as thoroughly as she expected Arthur would soon be wrecking Eames. She bit her lower lip, wriggling her fingers more deeply into her pants, wishing she'd worn a looser pair, and kept her gaze avidly locked on the two incredibly sexy men before her.

Evidently feeling the need to pin Eames with more than just one hand on his wrist, Arthur lowered himself, settling his body weight down on Eames, hips to hips, chest to chest. Then they were kissing again and by now it ought to be old, Ariadne thought vaguely, only it totally, totally wasn't, and she was going to gnaw her own lower lip red at the rate she was going, as she watched the two of them moving together, all muscles and sinew and raw sexual desire.

There as so much power on that bed, she mused, stroking herself intensely for a moment before withdrawing her hand completely from her pants in a show of will power that no one really appreciated. The men didn't notice, and she didn't _want_ to stop touching herself.... But she didn't want to rush this, either, didn't want to get herself off before Arthur and Eames even got started.

Well, okay, they were far beyond _started_ , but Arthur wasn't even undressed yet and Ariadne expected more of a show before they were done. In fact, she demanded it. And she _had_ won the bet.

Eames had lost some weight, but he hadn't shed any muscle, she thought, running her gaze over the taut thigh that was closest to her. He might be trapped beneath Arthur, but he was holding his own in a manner of speaking, by kissing back mercilessly and by locking his legs around Arthur's hips. Ariadne remembered touching Eames' chest, and sort of wished she could stroke his thigh, the same soft skin, hard muscle, and faint dusting of curling hairs... but she was supposed to watch, so imagination and memory alone were going to have to be good enough.

It _was_ enough, honestly. Especially when she got to watch Arthur's hands roaming over Eames' body. She'd always been as prone to visual stimulation as physical, had always preferred to make love with the lights on so she could see everything, and this.... Well, okay, it would have been nice to be able to get her hands on both of the men, but she was all right where she was too. Better than all right, she thought as she soaked it all in.

Just when she was beginning to wonder if they were both actually going to get off this way, with nothing more than some frottage -- not that it wouldn't be hot as hell, but it definitely wouldn't fulfill the forfeit she had demanded from Arthur in return for winning the bet -- Arthur pried himself away from Eames, ignoring the small protesting sound that the man made, and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for the small drawer in the bedside table.

"Roll over," he instructed Eames, giving his thigh a quick swat that had both Eames and Ariadne sucking in a startled breath. For slightly different reasons, of course.

Ariadne fought the urge to giggle at the expression on Eames' face. He was so obviously torn between defiance and eagerness. She hadn't a doubt which reaction was going to win out in the end, and she couldn't help smiling despite her own deeply felt arousal when he did as instructed. And it didn't even matter that he was grumbling the whole time in words she couldn't make out, because the rumble of his raspy voice was enough to make her panties even hotter and wetter.

And then Arthur hauled out the lube and condoms, and Ariadne thought that it might be a toss-up who was more turned on, her or Eames.

Okay, probably Eames. But she still thought it was only by a narrow margin. She was _very_ turned on.

She rubbed herself through the crotch of her pants, not bothering to slide her hand inside again just yet, and yes, she was ruining her pants as well as her panties. And that was all right. Arthur was unbuttoning and unzipping his fly, Eames was lying naked on his belly on the bed, and Ariadne was holding her breath and throbbing pretty much everywhere. She could feel her heartbeat between her legs, in her fingertips, pumping against her breastbone, and rushing in her ears.

She really wanted to see Arthur's cock, but he only undid his pants and then moved so that he was sitting on the bed beside Eames, the bulge of his erection shifting the material of his fly wider but not bursting free quite yet. Ariadne had a private little bet, just with herself, that Arthur was one of the more well-hung men she had ever known, and now, so close to finding out for sure, she felt it was more than a little frustrating to be denied that final proof.

But she wasn't completely disappointed, as Arthur slicked up his fingers, and without any hesitation or ceremony, began to prepare Eames, dragging a throttled little sound out of the man.

Ariadne hadn't tried anal sex herself -- though she still held out hopes of someday finding a hot guy who was into pegging -- but she knew how it worked. She had never expected it to be so incredibly _sexy_ , though. Eames was obviously tight, she thought, even before Arthur told him as much, his voice husky, amused, and more than a little approving, his free hand cupping and caressing one tight ass cheek. And that was just as hot as watching his fingers disappearing into Eames' ass, slicking on more lube at the same time he stretched him in preparation for his cock.

For his own part, Eames seemed to appreciate the intrusion, even tilting his hips up and back a little, insofar as Arthur's free hand, which had settled on the small of his back, would allow him to move. He was resting his chin on his folded arms, trying to look nonchalant about the whole thing, but Ariadne could see where his hand was clenched on the pillow, and his cheeks were deeply flushed, sweat beading at his temples and darkening the loose hair there. Never mind the way his eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with arousal in a way that completely gave the game away.

Eames looked good, Ariadne thought, unconsciously licking her lips, and running her fingers slowly along the seam of her pants, up and down, the way Arthur's fingers were moving in and out of Eames. In and out of his fine, tight, muscular ass.

She wondered if they even remembered she was there, if she could scoot her chair closer, but she was happy enough where she was, and she wasn't about to take her gaze away from them, not for an instant.

"Hurry it up," Eames finally growled at Arthur, craning to peer over his shoulder, then hissing when Arthur slapped his ass cheek with his other hand before slipping his fingers free with a wet curl. "Goddamn it, Arthur!" he snarled, but it was arousal and impatience that colored his tone, not anger.

Arthur smirked at him, then moved to tug down his underwear where it was exposed by his open fly. He was barefoot, but otherwise he was still fully clothed and Ariadne wondered whether it was a dominance thing, whether he felt uncomfortable stripping in front of her, whether he'd just been in too great a hurry to take the time, or whether it was a little of all of these... but the plain truth was that she really didn't care what the cause was, because it was _fucking hot_.

And there it was, there was Arthur's cock, and he was just as large as she'd thought. More so, really, because he was fully erect, and she'd only ever seen him tucked safely in his trousers during their daily interactions. "God..." she breathed, as he rolled the condom on, his cock jutting boldly out of his open fly. She felt a momentary pang of regret, but he and Eames really were meant for one another, and she wasn't about to get in the way of that. If either of them would even let her, which she kind of doubted.

Then again, she didn't think she'd want a cock that size going in her ass, ever, and Eames seemed to be not only okay with it, but enthusiastic. So there was that, and that was for the best.

Ariadne watched as Arthur lifted himself over Eames again. Only this time Eames was on his stomach, and Arthur leaned over him, whispering something in his ear that Ariadne couldn't hear. Well, it wasn't her place to listen in if it was private. Hell, societal norms and ingrained moral expectations dictate she not even be here, but she wouldn't have missed this for anything in the world.

She still couldn't quite believe she'd had the guts to demand this forfeit, or that Arthur had agreed. But she was glad. So very glad, as Arthur finally moved to sink his erection into Eames' well-lubed ass, slowly, steadily, and unrelentingly.

Ariadne could tell that it was uncomfortable for Eames, but he had gone red all the way down to his collarbones and his fat lips, an even darker crimson, were parted, letting little panting breaths out. His eyes were closed as much in pleasure as in concentration, and then he shifted back _toward_ Arthur, and Arthur's great big cock in his ass. There was no way that he wasn't enjoying this, Ariadne thought through the haze of her own powerful arousal.

Her hand was between her legs, it was true, inside her pants and panties now, touching herself the way that no one else knew to do quite right, but this wasn't about that. It was about the scene unfolding before her. It was about what she was _watching_ , not what she was doing.

Eames groaned out a mangled expletive of some sort, but he shoved back into the penetration and so there was no doubt that he was into this. For his part, Arthur was braced above Eames, the muscles of his forearms standing out, his hair curling even more around his temples than usual; probably due to the steamy humidity all around the both of them, Ariadne thought breathlessly and maybe a little irrationally.

It didn't seem irrational, though, and she was feeling pretty steamy and humid herself as she watched Arthur set about giving Eames' ass a good pounding. She'd watched porn before, it was true, and some of it had been gay porn. But there was nothing quite like seeing two hot young men that she knew personally getting it on right in front of her, in reality. She didn't know how she had gotten so lucky, and she wondered if she'd ever get to have this again.

Probably not, the tiny little rational voice in the back of her head that hadn't been completely obliterated by sexual stimulation, replied. And that was sad, but she was too busy being titillated and too filled with pleasure, both visual as she watched Arthur fucking Eames and manual as she stroked herself with more force than finesse, to really care much.

Arthur was something of a machine, she thought with vague admiration as she watched him moving over and into Eames. He was propped up on his elbows, his forearms hard with sharply delineated muscles where he was holding onto Eames' shoulders to brace himself, to tug Eames back into his pulsing hips. Eames certainly seemed to appreciate this, if the noises he made and the way he was moving underneath Arthur were any indication.

Ariadne's sense of sight was going a bit hazy as she neared her own climax, but she could hear the two men, she could smell their rich masculine sex in the air, and she could taste her own sweat salty on her upper lip. Everything had narrowed down to the way the two men were fucking on the bed in front of her, and the wet, smooth, familiar way she was stroking herself. In time with Arthur's thrusts inasmuch as she was capable, but then everything was rising up to overwhelm her, and the world vanished in a hot rush as her orgasm hit hard and fast, stealing her breath away and leaving small choking sounds of pleasure in its wake.

Fortunately for Ariadne neither Arthur nor Eames noticed when she almost squirmed her way right off of the chair. That might have something to do with the fact that Eames was clenching tense all over and shouting into the pillow as he shot into the mattress beneath him. Arthur followed just two or three seconds later, as Ariadne tried to catch her breath, tried to collect her sprawled limbs before she really did slide out of the chair, slowly dragged her hand out of her pants, slick and sated. Eames was a limp puddle on the bed as Arthur hunched over him and came with something that was more a growl than anything else, and Ariadne's gaze was still more than a little foggy with her own climax, but she was pretty sure Arthur had sunk his teeth into the meat of Eames' shoulder in order to stifle himself, and that was, _God_ , so hot.

Then all three of them sort of slumped, and Ariadne kind of wished she was on the mattress with them, but it wasn't her place. It would be so comfortable and safe, though, she thought in the sentimental haze of repletion. So much more pleasant than slumped on a hard, awkward desk chair....

"Ari," Eames rumbled, his voice a fucked-out husk that sent a renewed curl of arousal tugging at her tingling groin. She blinked and saw him holding out a hand to her, Arthur sprawled over his back, pressing a kiss to the spot he'd bitten on Eames' shoulder. "Come and join us."

They looked so perfect like that, both of them with mussed, sweat-damped hair, flushed cheeks, heated but soft eyes, still basking in the afterglow of a good, hard fuck. Even though Eames was nude and Arthur was still dressed, they just looked so _right_. Ariadne didn't know whether she ought to disrupt that picture with her presence.

"Come on," Arthur urged when she hesitated, giving her a warm smile with twinkling dimples, his chin resting on Eames' shoulder, one hand moving possessively over the muscles of Eames' stomach. "It's all right."

Ariadne bit at her lower lip, halfway to convinced, not wanting to be rude, but she was sweaty herself, her hand was sticky, and she really, really needed to change her pants and underwear. But they both seemed to want her over there, and so she couldn't continue to ignore the invite.

She wasn't sure she could make it over on her shaky knees, but she managed it, surreptitiously wiping her right hand on the leg of her pants, then sinking to sit on the edge of the mattress beside the two men. The scent of their mingled congress was strong, sweaty, musky, sexy.... She might have just come, but she was getting turned on all over again.

She cleared her throat, fidgeting with the edge of the bedspread, then managed to make herself look up and meet their eyes.

"So, you're not mad at me?" she asked hesitantly, speaking to both of them but mostly focused on Eames. She felt as disheveled and as sweaty as they were, but not in a sexy way. Neither Arthur nor Eames seemed to mind this, though. In fact Eames reached over and placed a hand on her thigh, nails catching lightly at the inner seam of her pants. Nowhere near her crotch, to her relief.

"Not angry," Eames rumbled, and Arthur smirking at her over Eames' shoulder, reaching to brush his knuckles against her hip for a moment before returning his hand to Eames' belly. He didn't seem to want to let go of him for long, and Ariadne couldn't say she blamed him.

"But don't count on me not seeking revenge," Eames added, giving her a crooked grin.

Somehow Ariadne didn't feel very intimidated, but that might have something to do with the scornful way Arthur had snorted in response that sally, as well as the fact that Eames was lying there naked with his spunk on his stomach, having just had his ass fucked raw.

"Well, just keep in mind that I got you something you actually wanted," she told him, her lips curving in a smirk that almost matched Arthur's. "And I won't really fear this hypothetical revenge."

Eames looked thoughtful, but also worn out and sleepy. Arthur gave her a little smile that sort of said "thank you", even though she knew that neither man was actually going to speak the words aloud. They didn't need to, though. She knew what they had wanted, and she knew that she'd just given them the imperative they needed to reach out and take it. They _owed_ her.

"Don't worry, " Ariadne assured them, her grin widening. "I won't be asking to watch again. But," she couldn't resist adding, "That doesn't mean that you boys shouldn't continue to fuck whenever you want."

"Boys?" One of Arthur dark brows arched at her, and she could almost have laughed aloud that _this_ was the part he had trouble with. Especially considering that he had just fucked Eames right in front of her on the flimsy excuse of a bet and was currently draped over Eames' naked body.

"Men," she corrected, wrinkling her nose at them. Greatly daring, she leaned down to kiss Eames' forehead , then stretched to do the same to Arthur. They both tasted salty and like sex, and she sort of envied them having just had one another.... But that was the way it was, and she wasn't invited to the party. Not as anything but a one-time spectator, that was.

It had been so intense, though, that she didn't know that she could have gone through it again. Not without getting involved. Or at least not without a better spot to watch and maybe a toy or two rather than her own fingers....

"Thank you for being good sports," she murmured, smiling affectionately at them. The momentary envy and melancholy was gone, and she felt good, she felt accomplished. "Where the bet was concerned, I mean. You didn't have to."

" _Now_ you tell us," Arthur said, rolling his eyes, but he was chuckling as he said it, and he immediately dropped a quick kiss on Eames' shoulder as though in apology for his words.

For his part, Eames didn't take offense. He didn't seem to be paying attention, actually, his eyes instead fixed on Ariadne's face. She became suddenly aware of the fact that his hand was still on her thigh, and while she did feel that she trusted the man for the most part, she wasn't sure she quite trusted that gleam in his dark grey eyes.

"Arthur, are you ready for another go?" Eames asked, his voice still dripping with sex, and Ariadne felt a throb in the panties that she still needed to change. It would be a little difficult, though, she thought, with Eames' fingers wrapped around her thigh. His hands weren't _quite_ as large or graceful as Arthur's, she noted with her artist's eye, but they were pretty damned close, and really damned sexy in their own right.

"Will be," Arthur answered, glancing down at Eames, then giving Ariadne an arch look. She might have taken this as her cue to leave, only Eames didn't seem to be in any hurry to let her loose. "Given a little time and some incentive."

"I think we can manage both of those," Eames drawled, still gazing at Ariadne in a way that made her want to squirm with renewed arousal. And not a little bit of anxiety. "I also think I know how we can exact our payback from darling little Ari."

"What?" she squeaked, and it was surely fear and not a sudden burst of arousal that made her heart jump in her chest. Right?

"You should join us this time," Eames told her bluntly, and her mouth dropped open, her eyes snapping wide.

" _What_?" she squeaked again, this time a little more violently, clutching at the hand Eames had on her thigh. Not with the intent to remove it, but she wasn't quite sure what was happening, and she suddenly needed something to hold onto.

"Eames is right," Arthur said firmly, nodding his head, his wild hair bobbing, his chocolate-warm eye heavy-lidded. "Please, join us."

And Ariadne squeaked a third time, even more loudly, as Arthur reached over Eames and grabbed her with powerful hands, dragging her into Eames' ready embrace. But she didn't fight it. She wasn't about to fight it.

Because even though she'd never dreamt this before, this was a dream come true.

=+=

Arthur delicately pressed his fingertips to the line of Ariadne's pulse, beneath her jaw. "I've told her," he said with a little tsk, "That she shouldn't use the PASIV recreationally."

"Oh, come now," Eames defended, giving Arthur a broad grin, his eyes twinkling. "Can you honestly say you've never done the same?"

Arthur shook his head, giving an exasperated sigh, but he didn't deny it.

"Besides," Eames continued, giving Ariadne a fond look that made something in Arthur bristle, though he carefully hid this response. "Can you blame the poor girl? Trapped in here with us for nearly a week as she's been."

"We're good enough company," Arthur protested mildly. Because it was true, and he and Eames had both been making an extra effort for Ariadne's sake.

"She's got a good half hour left," Eames said, glancing at the bright red numbers, and then raising his gaze to leer at Arthur. "Care to set a wager that you can't completely wreck me in that amount of time?"

Arthur quirked a brow and gave it a moment's thought. It was taking a chance. If Ariadne kicked out of her dream early for any reason... or if he and Eames lost track of time.... On the other hand, it had been almost a week, and the way Eames was looking at him, a hungry, challenging gaze, made his blood boil.

He paused a moment to tenderly stroke Ariadne's hair back from her forehead, and smirked when he caught the way Eames immediately fixated on his hand as he performed this gentle gesture. He wouldn't be gentle with Eames, that much was certain. They didn't have time for gentle. But later, perhaps... once they'd gotten out of this suite, or after Ariadne had gone to bed....

"I think I'll have to take you up on that," he said, hands already going to the buttons of his shirt as he strode toward his own room. He felt a momentary qualm about leaving Ariadne alone while plugged in, but she was a healthy young woman and the PASIV device was in perfect condition, seeing as it was his. She would be all right. Her own dreams were plenty... _happy_ , he thought, if certain physical cues were any indication.

And when it came to that, why should Ariadne be the only one having fun in the hotel suite? She certainly wasn't the only one who was bored.

He paused in the doorway, shrugging out of his shirt. "After all," he added, grinning as Eames nearly tripped over his own feet hurrying after him. "You know that I can never resist a good bet."

[end]


End file.
